


221C Baker St

by Cloudstream_Auto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Beaten to a bloodly pulp, How did we get here?, Interrogation, Jack of All Trades - Freeform, John is actually useful, Just kidding he's practically useless, Kidnapped OC, Master of all, Mycroft actually has friends, Mycroft has Underworld connections, Mycroft has a soft spot, Observant John, Other, Protective Mycroft, Race Against Time, Run away story, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock isn't as clever as he thinks, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This seriously isn't what I intended!?, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:46:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudstream_Auto/pseuds/Cloudstream_Auto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally called back to London after years of hiding, Samuel moves into 221C Baker St. meeting his neighbors not long after arriving. After a charming introduction and a lasting impression, the crime solving duo leave only to find out Samuel isn't where he's suppose to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	221C Baker St

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is a little snippet of a story I started to write a little while back. I don't know whether or not I want to continue it or if it's worth continuing for that matter. So I figured I'd post it here and see what you guys think. Have fun, there's not much there yet. Sorry. - Cloud

The gentle rapping was quickly answered, the door swinging open to reveal a small old lady with short wavy blond hair. Her face was slightly wrinkled but not too telling about her age, small wrinkles peeked out from the corners of her light brown eyes when she smiled.

"Hello dear! It's so good to see you, come on in." She said ushering her guest, a man in his late twenties with light brown hair that hung down to his dull green eyes, through the door. He stood at about five foot seven, wearing dirty sneakers and an old black jacket. The shoulders had faded to a dull brown from exposure to the sun, and it was zipped up despite the nice weather.

"It's good to see you too Mrs. Hudson." The man replied, before giving the old lady a hug. "How've you been?"

"I've been marvelous," She said pulling back, her hands on his shoulders. "But look at you! You're pale as a ghost, and look at those bags under your eyes."

"I'm fine Mrs. Hudson."

"Are you sure? You look dreadful, like you haven't slept in days. Are you eating alright, you've gotten mighty thin too." She fretted as she looked the young man over.

"I'm _fine_!" He grabbed the old lady's shoulders and looked her in the eyes with a smile. "It's okay, I always look like this. There's no need to worry."

"Oh alright, I just haven't seen you in years." Mrs. Hudson grinned, giving him a playful smack on the side. "I'll show you the room, it's down over here."

Mrs. Hudson led the way to the door just down the hallway, unlocking it they went downstairs to the flat in the basement. "I just finished the renovations, when I heard you were moving up here I was so excited. Fixed everything right up for you. You'll want to use the fireplace, it can get rather damp down here, sorry about that. I'd give you the one upstairs but I already have two really nice gentlemen renting it. You'll love them, they're so much fun. They solve crimes together, Sherlock is really good at noticing things and is really smart. He pretty much just drags John along with him."

"Mrs. Hudson, you're rambling." The young man interrupted. "I'll be fine, the flat is great. I'll have my stuff moved in by the end of the day."

"Oh sorry Samuel. I'm just happy to see you again." Mrs. Hudson sighed as she pulled the young man into a hug. "Now off with you, go get your stuff and get settled."

They both headed back up the stairs and Samuel started to bring in boxes filled with clothes, books, and trinkets. Before long he had a small pile stacked in his living room, he had had his furniture shipped ahead of him and it was already placed in the appropriate rooms. Picking up two of the boxes he carried them in to the bedroom and unpacked the clothes, folding them and placing them in the drawers of the dresser. Next he unpacked his books, then the various types of art work he had, gently placing them on the walls with tacks.

Finished unpacking he headed up stairs, passing through the doorway into the rest of the house he almost ran into a another man who was coming down the stairs. "Oh, excuse me. I should've been paying attention to where I was going."

"No, no. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be down here." The man paused for a moment confused. "Who are you? If you don't mind me asking, it's just I don't recognize you."

"Forgive me, I'm Sam. I just moved in downstairs." Samuel gave a tired smile to the slightly shorter man.

"Oh, I'm John. I live in the flat upstairs, I didn't know anyone was moving in. Mrs. Hudson didn't mention anything about it." The man had short straight blond hair, and brown eyes and was in his thirties.

"If you had been paying attention you would have noticed she was having the bottom flat renovated. Not to mention the furniture that was delivered a week ago." A tall man with curly black hair scoffed as he walked down the stairs flicking up the collar on his trench coat.

"Right, well..."

"Don't worry about it, I wasn't expecting a big welcome. Mrs. Hudson was always telling me about what a jerk her tenet was to others. I'm guessing you're Sherlock?" Samuel smiled.

"Indeed, and you are?"

"Samuel Reagan, you can called me Sam." Sherlock had reached the bottom of the stairs and offered his left hand, Sam took it and Sherlock pulled it toward him and turned it to the side.

"Hmm, old scar on the outside of the wrist. I'd say a sharp blade made it, probably some muscle and nerve damage."

"Yeah, partial numbness in my hand." 

"Early teens?"

"I was twelve."

"Looks like a knife,"

"Grill scraper."

"How did you manage that?" John butted in.

"My cat dragged a brand new one across the floor and it got covered by a towel. When I sat down the blade went through my wrist. Lots of blood."

"Interesting, I'd say you're in your late twenties, judging by the softness of your hands you don't do anything hands on. Probably a desk job, you look like a book reader. You have contacts in so poor eye sight. You have three different cats, and even though you wear your watch on your left wrist you're left handed. It's on twenty-four hour time, and you have an american accent so some type of military background most likely a parent. There's not much to tell about you, how boring. You are a rather simple person aren't you?"

"Depends on how you look at it." Samuel shrugged.

"How did he do? He's usually pretty good at picking people apart but I want to know if he got anything wrong." John smiled.

"Doubt it." Sherlock said under his breath.

"Well, I do have three cats, I read books, I'm twenty six, left handed, and a writer."

"Told you."

"However, I'm only a part time writer. I'm a licensed paramedic, with five different medical cards. Hardly a hands off job." Samuel chuckled.

"Okay one thing wrong." Sherlock scoffed.

"I'm not done." Samuel grinned. "The closest I come to military background is a friends brother in the US Airforce, and when I was in high school I was in Civil Air Patrol. That's a volunteer group that does search and rescue. I'm an artist, and I'm not American."

"What?" Sherlock and John both asked.

"I'm from France."

"No way, you don't sound french at all." John said bewildered.

"I moved to Germany when I was five, then to America when I was seven. I speak multiple languages, I'm up to ten right now."

"You're a genius then?"

"You could say that I guess."

"Well then, what can you tell about Sherlock?" John asked a little too excited.

"I know his brother." Samuel said bluntly, the other two going silent. The hallway was completely still until Mrs. Hudson walked in.

"Oh Samuel! I see you've met the boys." She hurried over and gave Samuel a hug before turning to Sherlock and John, who were still stunned. "You two better behave and treat Samuel nicely. He's a good young boy who just moved in downstairs."

"Of course." John stammered.

"I told you not to worry, I'll be fine. Besides, they have been wonderful."

"Oh alright, but do get some sleep tonight. You look like a drug addict." Mrs. Hudson said before taking off.

"You know Mycroft?" Sherlock said once their landlady was gone.

"Of course, I do business with him. That's why I moved to London, he needed me to check something out for him. I told him where I was moving in and he almost had a heart attack. Warned me about you."

"Oh great. One of your brothers goons is living with us."

"Excuse me," Samuel almost growled. "I'm not his 'goon', I work with him. There's a difference. I answer to no one, he asks me for favors and if I feel like it I help him. Not the other way around."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

"What exactly do you do?"

"That depends."

"On what?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the smirk that crossed the younger mans face.

"On what needs to be done."

"Oh, so you're one of those."

"I wouldn't say _that_..." Samuel cringed. "You make it sound like I'm a complete ass. It's not like I'm an assassin or anything."

"Of course not, but for the right amount of money it's all a manner of speaking isn't it?"

"Devil's in the details." 

"Hold on now." John interrupted. "If you're here because Mycroft asked you to come, what's he need help with that he wouldn't ask Sherlock?"

"I don't know." Samuel shrugged. "All I know is that Mycroft wanted me in London, he didn't say why. Only a time and place."  
Sherlock let out a thoughtful hum as he looked over the smaller man again. "Come on John, we've got places to be."

"Wait, what? We're just going to leave then, like this never happened?" John watched open mouthed as his friend walked out the door before running after him.

"Aren't you the least bit interested in why one of Mycroft's... whatever he is, is doing living under us?"

"Of course I am." Sherlock responded.

"Then why are we leaving? Shouldn't we be asking him?"

"Samuel doesn't know anything. He said so himself."

"He must have been lying, if he's who he said he is he wouldn't tell us anything."

"He doesn't know, I could tell by the way he said it that he's just as confused as I am. That's why we're going to go pay a visit to Mycroft, to find out what's going on."

 

Sherlock and Watson walked through the door into the private room that held Mycroft's desk and belongings. "Ah, Sherly. To what do I the... pleasure?" Mycroft asked, a smile that was more akin to a grimace on his face.

"I'm sure you know full well why I'm here."

"Going by the look on your face you're not to happy about something."

"Stop acting like you don't know." Sherlock shot back.

"To be quite honest I don't know what you're talking about." Mycroft responded, his eyebrows lifting up in bemusement.

"Why is one of your 'friends' in London." John spoke up.

"And why did they move into the flat underneath us?" Sherlock added.

"What the devil are you talking about? I haven't sent anyone into your flat." Mycroft answered taken aback.

"Don't lie to me, he told me himself that you asked him to come to London!"

"Who did?"

"Some tired looking fellow named Samuel Reagan." John supplied.

Mycroft stopped and looked at John. "Sammy?"

"Uh, brown hair green eyes kind of looks like he's dead." John recounted gesturing at his eyes with the last part.

"Sammy's not here, he supposed to be hiding!"

"Then what's he doing at Baker Street?" Sherlock asked annoyed.

"I don't know, he's was in Canada. I told him to stay away from England until it was safe, he's not supposed to come back until _I_ gave him word-" Mycroft cut himself off and looked at Sherlock. "Did you say that he told you I asked him to come here?"

"Yeah, said you asked him to come." John answered.

"No, did he say that I myself asked him!?"

"Yes! He said all he knows is that you wanted him in London, you didn't say why. You just gave him a time... and a place." Sherlock trailed off looking up at Mycroft's horrified face. 

"You said he was in hiding? Why?"

"A mutual 'friend' of ours set him up. Wanted him to go do something for them, it was basically a suicide mission." Mycroft almost whispered. "But Sammy managed to pull it off. It was too dangerous for him to stay here so I got him out, told him to stay hidden. He shouldn't be here!"

"But he said that you sent for him!" John rebuttaled.

"We need to get him here now." Mycroft muttered pulling his desk phone off the receiver.

"Wait," John spoke up again, his eye's widening. "He's probably already gone."

"What?" The brothers spoke together. 

"How could you know that?" Mycroft asked.

"When I came down the stairs that's when I ran into him, he was already leaving when he told us about meeting you." John's eyes were wide as he looked between the brothers.


End file.
